"So beautiful," said Ithildin reverently.
He lay in the grass, next to Lielle, arms behind his head, and stared at the moonless sky dappled with stars. The steppe had drunk in the summer sun, and now the earth was warm against his back. Blades of grass prickled lightly. A breeze cooled the skin pleasantly. The night had spread her black sequined velvet over them. In the dark, countless points of multi-colored light twinkled like fireflies, like sparks of magic fire blooming within a crystal.
It was like floating over a bottomless deep, dotted with the reflections of elfin lanterns. Ithildin could imagine himself back in Greyna Thialle, under the overhanging tree branches that blocked out the stars, looking into the depths of the SiallamainYlarLake, waiting for the celebrations to start.
He could. But why would he? There would be absolutely no point to it. Not for a moment could he forget where he actually was: in the Wild Steppe, under the dark boundless sky, on his way to the unknown. Lying next to his lover, exhausted by wanton caresses. From the distance, where the campfires burned, came the noise of the Essanti's raised voices, laughter and shouts that mingled with the crackling of wood on the avid flames and the hiss of fat droplets on hot coals.
They were alone. Their insatiable Essanti stud went, after their lengthy roll in the grass, to bid his friends farewell. This had been a nightly ritual, ever since they had left Kintaro's camp and traveled through the Essanti lands heading for the borders of the distant mysterious Arislan, a country no elf had gone to before. Or, if he had, never told his kin about it.
They were alone, but Kintaro's invisible presence still hung around them. Unusually, they could not hear his voice, but his clothing and sword lay nearby; his agate earrings swung from Lielle's ears (the Chevalier had tried them on and forgot to give them back); his scent still clung to skin. Ithildin no longer thought it gross, but arous ... just rousing.
Since they had left Kintaro's camp, the now ex-chieftain did not bother them much. As if he was giving Ithildin the time to get used to him before they would be spending all their time together. Before it would become just the three of them under one roof, in one bed, sharing more than just their feelings for the green-eyed red-haired Lielle.
These very feelings the barbarian stubbornly denied, even after having vaguely alluded to them himself. For example, once Alva pressed him about why Kintaro, whose tribe was one of the three largest in the Wild Steppe, suddenly fancied stepping down as chief and taking off in search of adventure. He was fishing for a compliment. But he had forgotten he was talking to an uncouth barbarian instead of a court sycophant.
"Wanted to split for a long time," Kintaro said, nonchalant. "Learned everything there is about fighting, got to the top, screwed every guy worth screwing. What's left? So made up my mind to go. See the world, try my luck. Maybe, use my sword to get myself a throne. Conn of the Thousand Battles did, after all. You'd be my queen, and the elf could be the Prime Minister."
"So I'd be your bedwarmer, and the elf would be responsible for the affairs of state?" asked Alva sulkily.
"You both would be my bedwarmers. He'll be the Prime Minister because of his premonitions and things."
And Kintaro kissed Alva to shut him up. And he never even told him how gorgeous and desirable he was, as Alva, spoilt by his previous lovers, was angling to hear. Ithildin doubted Kintaro had ever said anything like that to Alva.
"They say that the new moon is an auspicious start to a journey," said Lielle pensively. "Kintaro said that today we reached the end of the Essanti lands. Moonless nights make me antsy."
Ithildin turned to hug him. Alva went on, cheek against the elf's shoulder, "The sky seems so empty without the moon. My nurse used to tell me that's how God looks at us with his night eye. No moon means the eye is closed."
"I was born in a forest so dark, I had to climb a tree to see the moon. I could look at it for hours."
The memories of Greyna Thialle still rippled in Ithildin's mind, like the surface of the pond disturbed by a thrown stone.
"If you admit to being the God of Moonlight, or some such, I will not be surprised." Lielle smiled, and the elf did too.
"A mother bore me, just as she did you, aerve."
"Sometimes I doubt it. You are too beautiful for a creature of flesh and blood."
The young man's fleeting fingers traced Ithildin's cheek. The elf caught them in his hand and brought them to his lips to kiss.
"Hardly a good thing in our situation, Lielle," he said thoughtfully. "I am attracting undue attention."
"I have thought about it," came the flippant response. "Let's just dress as women, that's all."
Ithildin was dumbstruck. Not noticing, Lielle went on, "I shall be a cousin to Chevalier Ahayrre, a high-born lady Aldys Alanis, you will be my dear friend, plunged into gloom on account of being recently widowed. Your name could be Tsi-Ling Tsi-Jang. Like those mountain people. Here is hoping that the 'immortal' works of Count Ysmena are not known in Arislan. Oh, I wish we did not have to know about them either ... "
Realizing that his elf had not responded at all, Chevalier Ahayrre rose on his elbow. "What's wrong," he asked. "Seen a ghost?"
"I cannot do it, Lielle!" breathed Ithildin, aghast. "It's a sacrilege!"
Chevalier Ahayrre was frankly puzzled.
"Lies and dissembling are foreign to elves," Ithildin hastened to explain. "We never change our appearance to obfuscate. But to pass one for a creature of a different race, and of different gender ..." he stopped, shuddering.
Alva was lost for words. His careful plans were crumbling. It hurt Ithildin to see the reproach in Alva's eyes. But there had to be another way! He could keep his face veiled or stay home at all times. Without him, nobody would recognize Chevalier Ahayrre – lots of handsome northerners in this world!
"I had no idea masquerading was taboo for you," Lielle said finally, frowning. "You don't even use make-up"?
"Of course not. It would debase what nature had given you. Pride would keep the Ancient Race from enhancing our appearance in any way."
"But you wear rich cloth, jewelry, gold and silver."
"That is to show our artistry, and the beauty of things that surround us."
"Diné, when there was fighting in the GreatForest, at the time of Ashurran, elves wore green and painted their faces to hide in the thicket. Well-known fact."
Now Ithildin was silent. He knew that he ought to object, make Alva see things differently, but could not find the right words.
"It's hard for you to understand. I just know it. What you are talking about is different ... they were warriors, and, anyway, maybe they were not using paint at all; after all, it's impossible to keep your face and hands clean during fighting."
"You are only prejudiced, my love. Precious little difference between dirt or dust and paint, if it helps to mask you."
"War is one thing, and peace another."
"And who says we are not at war? Kintaro let it slip that you had assassins after you as well in Trianess. And it's not much harder to track us down in Arislan than in Creede. The northerners always draw attention to themselves in Arislan."
"I can't, Lielle! If I could only ask my ancestors, my elders ..."
"Oh, so that's what it is," drawled the Chevalier. "You can't decide on your own? After you broke so many of your people's rules, and not asked anyone's advice?"
Ithildin hid his face in his palms. Alva was right. He was already an outcast, covered in shame, what was one more transgression to him! Tears ran down his cheeks. Alva held him close.
"We'll come back to this some other time, sweetheart. We'll think of something. I won't force you."
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Alva in a dress and high heels, fanart by Anna Valerius
The quote on the left is from a funny Russian music video, I really can't even think of adequate translation XD It's a song by the band called Leningrad, it's about a girl who is preparing for her date, tries to look chic, and fails spectacularly XD